


Parallel Structures

by LightDescending



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Blood, Desert Bluffs, Double Carlos, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 16:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightDescending/pseuds/LightDescending
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a new man in Desert Bluffs. Who is he? What does he want with them? Why his perfect hair? Why his perfect and properly tailored suit? All Kevin knows is that he's fallen instantly, madly, topsy-turvy-queasy in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parallel Structures

**Author's Note:**

> Luis is, for all intents and purposes, a Strexcorp aligned "double" of Carlos. This is my interpretation of certain events in Desert Bluffs, with references made to Episodes 19A and 19B (Sandstorm) specifically. I figure that many of the events between Desert Bluffs and Night Vale would be the same, although Kevin and Luis's dynamic would be ... different. 
> 
> Further note: This work and work description has been edited.

The first time he ever saw Luis was during a press conference. It was held in order to formally launch a new company initiative, comprehensive in that it would cover _everything_ in the category of “external affairs”: broad market research at the forefront, product testing, human resource building, consumer motivational strategies, you name it. As Luis put it, in a tone that called to mind fine port and lacquered mahogany coffins at CEO memorial services, Desert Bluffs was a simply exquisite example of a town living the American Dream to the fullest extent, and as such merited direct supervision for the purposes of expansion and continued development. He would, he’d said, be purchasing a modest city block downtown from which to run various initiatives around town, and citizens could expect to hear from him regularly. Kevin had found himself picking anxiously at the gore encrusted beneath his fingernails, deep-reddish brown dust floating to the ground.

Luis had gorgeous curled hair meticulously slicked back against his skull, just touched by silver at the temples- Kevin was certain that if he counted, the steely hairs on each side would number the same. He was immaculate from head to toe, shoes perfectly oiled, pant hems barely skimming the gleaming leather tops; suit jacket cut and tailored just so, a hint of wine-coloured shirting peeking out at the collar and cuffs; a sleek dignified tie held with a genuine finger-bone tie clip. His voice carried just the barest trace of an accent; his teeth were razor sharp, narrow, and evenly spaced. And oh, his eyes – to gaze into his dark, deadened and shrewd shark’s eyes was to behold the velvety black depths of a bountiful sky whose limits were insurmountable, where an endless pursuit of glory and personal betterment could begin! Kevin fell instantly, madly, topsy-turvy-queasy in love.

He could scarcely breathe when the man visited his studio that very same day – the same day! – his flawless everything all the more sharply defined amidst the gore and viscera. Obviously Luis would not besmirch his image with bloodstains, it being the image of the company, and so he stood in the doorway to the broadcast studio rather than enter… but all the same, how inspirational he’d been! He even shook Kevin’s hand, expertly, with firmness but not a hint of presumption, and cast his gaze about the studio appraisingly with one eyebrow lifted slightly.

“I have heard many things about your unique skill set.” He’d said in a modulated voice. “You are a great asset to the company, I’m sure. I am here to retrieve transcripts, materials you understand – to better assist our research analysts. I trust it won’t be a problem.”

Kevin had stammered out a reply, invited Luis to share a brief motivational statement (he’d declined), and then simply stood, rigid as a board, as the cellphone tucked away in Luis’s suit jacket began to ring and the man excused himself to take the call. Then Kevin had sat down so hard in the booth’s swivel chair that it went skidding across the floor and a small wave of blood washed into his socks.

He’d tracked the release of Strexcorp publications more avidly than usual in the months thereafter, paying _special_ attention to local initiatives. It was purely due to their value in bolstering morale and employee pride, of course. And if, periodically, he gave public accolades to the ingenious contributions and go-get-‘em attitude of a particular dark businessman about town, well, that was simply good journalism: let credit be given where credit was due. This _was_ a meritocracy, after all. Luis always humbly accepted recognitions but continued to decline interviews, choosing instead to release statements via reputable spokespeople.

Once a spokesperson leaned in while shaking Kevin’s hand at the start of the weather break, and murmured, “The Chairman sends his regards, and expresses his wish for you to continue representing Strexcorp faithfully.” The redheaded woman then drew back, met his eyes directly, and smirked meaningfully before turning and swaying out on clicking stilettos. Kevin had waited until the studio door was fully closed before jumping and spinning around in utter glee, his arms spread wide while the weather issued tinny and distant from the headphones slung around his neck. It was “I Can’t Help Myself” played backwards by string quintet today. He listened to the song on repeat for days, humming through cleaning entrails for dinner.

The real change in their relationship came exactly one year after Diego’s arrival in Desert Bluffs. Some poor silly dear and her friends got all up in a tizzy and started spreading misinformation about a minor project going on in the Sand Wastes on some land they claimed to own, and staged a demonstration there. The sensationalism was both appalling and inappropriate, so Luis had gone out personally – personally! – to the future site of the Oasis Springs Casino and Fun Complex to peacefully negotiate terms of mutual benefit. Alas, he had been brutally attacked, and the protestors, sad to say, had to be sternly lectured (the resulting mess was neatly vacuum-packed and sent to the Livestock Feed Processing Plant for reclamation).

Kevin had met Luis, breathless and horrified, in Luis’s private helicopter where he sat, legs apart, hands steepled between his knees. He looked up and smiled wearily when Kevin entered, and there was a lock of hair curling out of place against his forehead. He was _devastatingly_ beautiful and had a reflective air despite the ordeal. Kevin’s heart nearly broke seeing him so wounded.

“I hope you’ll forgive the impromptu meeting.” Luis said softly. “After the incident, well… I felt I ought to see you. I think perhaps there are things which I’ve put off too long.”

He’d then straightened up, smoothed his tie with two fingers and then beckoned Kevin over. The radio host had felt himself trembling while he took the few steps necessary to cross and sit next to Luis, who propped his chin on one lightly curled hand and regarded Kevin carefully.

“I think we should begin seeing each other.” Kevin said boldly. Luis grinned, all teeth.

“I was beginning to doubt you’d ever ask.” He’d said.

-

Only Kevin ever got to see Luis _rumpled_.

When they fucked it was sweet and gentle and shattering, and afterwards they would lie in the destruction wrought and clean up the blood and leave lazy bites all over each other’s skin, Luis often kissing livid marks into Kevin’s neck and jawline where _anyone_ could see. Once Kevin bent Luis full over his own desk as the man beneath him snarled and dug his nails deeply into Kevin’s back, and Kevin had laughed and laughed and laughed. He gave his shows with fresh crimson spattered all over his shirt that’d slowly dry to rusty blotches, and when he got back to his apartment he would shower and admire the signs of Luis’s love closing up all over his body.

Physicality was a feature of their relationship but not the substance. Luis had been there when an entire senior class at the high school rose up in senseless rebellion against what they called the “capitalist monstrosity of Desert Bluffs”. A Public Relations team had to be dispatched, and took the youth – disillusioned and clearly uninformed – in for questioning. Luis had let Kevin sob into the front of his silk shirt while he wailed about stupid children too entitled and lazy to contribute productively like the rest of the community. His fingers had stroked circles across Kevin’s back until his sobs eased into hiccups and then into the steady, even breathing of sleep. In the morning he had made pancakes. And Kevin – Kevin had been present for the regrettable but necessary slashing of a sub-corporations budget, the proceedings of which had lasted a full week. Luis was coming home each night with red limning his eye sockets. Kevin ran the supporting news features personally, assuring the hard-working citizens of the city that this change wouldn’t affect holiday projections in the slightest, and on the final day of the carnage made Luis his favourite meal when he got home: a delicate raw heart on top of saffron basmati with pomegranate seeds, served with a rich Malbec. “I didn’t know you cooked!” Luis had exclaimed, tucking a napkin in at his throat. Kevin had watched while Luis lingered over each bite, and considered with excitement the successful partnership they were building.

There were other moments of tenderness and support, many other stories that Kevin locked away and treasured. The sun shone, and the perfectly functioning body of society breathed and throve, and the gardens filled up with black dahlias and cultivated roses blooming from beds of bone-meal and ash, and the New Year waned towards spring.

Then the Sandstorm hit.

When Kevin returned from the otherworldly studio, the evidence of his embrace with his double imprinted in bruises around his neck, he finished the broadcast and went straight to Luis’s office, excitement churning thickly through his veins and bubbling in his mind. He found his lover washing his hands at the sink in the adjoining bathroom, ribbons of clotting gore swirling down into the open drain. Luis hadn’t changed his suit yet. A handkerchief rested crumpled and discarded atop a stack of blood-spattered papers, and a fresh garland of intestines was draped all around the top of the filing cabinet in the corner. There was a wide congealing puddle of blood on the floor. Kevin sidestepped it and leaned against the desk.

“Did you meet your double too?” Kevin smiled, and Luis turned with a lazy smirk on his lips and his obsidian eyes half-lidded.

“We had a lovely chat.” He said silkily, wiping his hands on a small towel and then straightening his sleeve cuffs before returning to the main office space. Then he frowned. “Your neck.”

Kevin reached up to touch the fingermarks purpling around his throat. “We shared a moment, my double and I. Not _that_ kind of moment, silly. He couldn’t stick around, though. More’s the pity, I’d say, but although the portal vanished, maybe I’ll get to see him again! Who knows…” He smiled coyly.

Luis had a curious look on his face. “Maybe indeed,” He said softly. “Tell me, darling, is there something you want to show me from tonight’s broadcast?”

They listened to the recording in the booth at the studio, Luis’s face rapt throughout. When the Strex-patented mini-disc spun to a halt, Luis pulled the headphones off his head slowly. Kevin leaned in expectantly. Under the green LED studio lighting, Luis’s eyes gleamed.

“How _very_ interesting,” he said.

Kevin kissed Luis long and slow, and when he pulled away his eyes glittered. “I spy with my little Eye…”

“…A new potential _market._ Well _done._ ”

Kevin grinned, folding his arms behind his head and kicking his feet up onto the studio tables.

“Welcome, Strexcorp, to Night Vale.”

 

 


End file.
